


5 Times Other People Figured it Out and 1 Time Will Did . . .

by alivehawk1701



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: "Love sucks", "Old fandom troupe", "People are observant", "Will is the last to know", "Winston is part of this", Dr. Frederick Chilton Being an Asshole, F/M, Hurt, M/M, Team Sassy Science (Hannibal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25794415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivehawk1701/pseuds/alivehawk1701
Summary: Everyone has their own perspective on Will and Hannibal's relationship and, unfortunately, most of them figure out/have their suspicions about Hannibal's true feelings before Will does. Written from five different character's POV, last one from Will's POV.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 98





	1. Physical Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to remember the "5 Times" thing being an old troupe of fanfic writing, from yon years past, though I may be wrong. Thought I'd write one as a palate cleanser before jumping into a more serious fic. Enjoy!

Conscious awareness of the room around me, like the first tentative raindrops before a storm, returned to me with the feel of crisp cotton sheets against my feet, his hand lightly tracing the line of my hip, and a cool breeze from a nearby open window. My heart rate slowed as I wetted my dry lips, eyes focusing on the face nestled close to mine. His breathing had returned to the normal careful rhythm he always seemed to maintain, a return to stillness, sweat cooling our bodies. 

Each time we’ve slept together I’ve marveled at his easy athleticism, the smooth agility of his movements, the kind of physicality you wouldn’t think him capable of just by looking at him. The veneer of politeness and safety, quiet earth tones and the soothing grey of well tailored suits, not a hair out of place, precise movements, slow like sap, was something he knew exactly how to put on and take off. When we had sex he exsisted solely and compltely in his body, a body that took on warmer, more exhilerating hues, an inexcapable reminder of the animal he, and I were, if just for that time. 

His hand brushed a damp lock of hair from my temple, remnants of the energy I’d seen coursing through his body humming like a distant train. But this was just sex. I’d told myself that enough times. Questioned my actions enough. Wondered if it was a connection born more out of proximity than actual fondness. Even when he was inside of me, observing and adapting with shocking swiftness to the kind of touch, pressure and pace that unraveled me most, there was no connection beyond the physical. He was present in the moment but not open to me. Whoever was there was carefully locked away behind his eyes.

“Where do you go?” I asked, knowing it would sound insecure.

“I am right here,” he said gently, running his thumb over the line of my jaw, the usual honey colour of his eyes darkened near to black in the pale light.

“I know, “ I said, taking a deep breath, feeling unable to stop myself, “Most of you. The necessary parts.”

He frowned, “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” I shook my head, “No, I’m not. Just,” I met his eyes, remembering them half lidded, head thrown back as his hands grasped my hips with shocking strength, “Curious.”

He said nothing for a moment, catching his lower lip with his teeth slightly, “I am focused purely on bringing you pleasure. This requires concentration.”

I rolled onto my back, “God, I must sound like a child.”

“We are intimate with each other physically. Curiosity about intimacy on a deeper level is natural.”

“But that’s not what this is.”

“Is that a question?” he shifted closer to wrap an arm around my waist, sliding a hand up to cup my breast, thumbing a nipple erect.

I turned my head to look at him, his bare chest and stomach pressed into me, the warmth of his breath on my neck, over my pulse, “A statement of fact,” I said, “We’re comforting each other during a difficult time.”

“One must not reject opportunities for comfort,” he laid his head on the pillow, “Deep feelings of loss can be all consuming.”

“You must miss him,” I said, not surprised our conversation turned again to Will Graham. Hannibal knew him better than I did, even if it was for a shorter time, he’d accepted the charge of watching over him when I’d declined. Will was strange to me, by reputation and stranger still when I’d actually talked with him, sat in the same room with him. Will had wanted comfort from me. Seemed so long ago now. And I’d rejected him then too. 

“I miss him,” he said quietly. My eyes flickered down to his face at the sense of the smallest vibration, like those words were connected as a root to somewhere deep and unreachable within him, not a crack but a sound resonating from far behind the wall. I never knew him to be disingenuous but rarely did I hear real emotion in his voice. Did Hannibal know I could hear that? 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. He was never officially your patient.”

“I should have seen he was struggling, even if he wasn’t my patient, because he was my friend.”

“Will doesn’t exactly make that easy.”

“No,” he agreed, “He is convinced the world and everyone in it will hurt him just by being near him. He strives to protect himself. Hide himself. But I couldn’t help but see his brilliance. The beauty of his mind and heart,” he had started to kiss my neck, “I only wanted to be near it, feel its warmth, its radiance,” his body shifted so I could feel the hardness of his cock suddenly hot and insistent against my leg. My mouth fell open at the push of his hips, his hand sliding down my stomach. 

“You might have a singular view of Will,” my eyes closed, feeling his cock twitch at the name, the realization of what it meant twisting in my chest, “He makes most people uneasy.”

Hannibal, harnessing the impossible physical skill I’d come to know, rolled quickly on top of me, the full length of his cock straining between us as he settled between my legs. The sensasion made my heart skip a beat, staring up at him like a stranger as he asked in a low voice, “You don’t want to keep talking about Will do you?” 

He met my eyes then, the beat of his heart almost audible in the quiet room, every muscle coiled. The weight of his body and the pressure of his arousal was suddenly unfamiliar, somewhere deep within me I felt a twinge of fear. Fear of what he kept hidden. Nonetheless I met his eyes and asked, “Do you?” 

When the head of his cock met the slick of my lips I gasped at the size, suddenly seeming so much bigger than it was before. A shuddering breath left him and his eyes closed. He slid into me, settling deep, the pulse of him tearing through me. He wasn’t thinking about me. Maybe he never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime in series two? Cross your eyes slightly, pay the timing no mind, I did my best.


	2. A Stolen Item

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Winston's POV (almost backed away from writing from a dogs POV, but then decided just to lean into it)

From the warmth and calm of the porch I watched the others play. They had caught the scent of a rabbit and were chasing it across the field in riotous joy. They scraped their paws against the frozen ground after it had dived into its burrow, seeking to collapse their prey’s seclusion, scare it into running again. I wagged my tail in vicarious enjoyment but remained where I was. I’d rather stay here with the tall man and wait for my master’s return. 

The tall man, dressed in sweet smelling wool against the cool autumn air was sitting in the porch chair, hand gently scratching behind my ears, watching the other dogs pay with placid interest. When he ran two fingers over my temples, applying equal firm pressure, I sighed in relief, closing my eyes briefly and letting my nose gather all there was to tell me about him. I knew his smell by now. He always smelled clean, which to humans meant soap and the scrubbing of most of their natural scent; clean clothes, clean skin, clean hair. 

I remembered the one time he’d come to feed us and it was clear he’d just been chasing something himself. He’d smelled of dirt and sweat and crushed grass. He had another person’s smell on him that time, along with a rich dominating smell of his own. It had forced my tail between my legs, lowered my head, but he hadn’t, then or now, any intention of being my alpha, he just patted my head and spoke calming words that I didn’t understand. 

He didn’t always stay with us for long, just enough to feed us, but today he lingered. I smelled no worry on him, nothing was wrong with our master, and I didn’t mind his company. I laid down at his feet and smelled his home on his shoes, the faint smell of blood, wine, and distant chemicals. I also smelled my master. Not just from the man being in the house. He’d taken something and put it in his pocket. Whatever it was was strong, it had been near my master’s skin, had the smell of sleep on it. 

I’d just gotten my master back. Gone for longer than I knew how to tell. Missed him. I didn’t like him being away. Didn’t like when we had to stay with the female. She smelled of nerves and salt and fear, overly strong artificial flowers and alcohol lingering in her fur, over her skin. She made me nervous. Not like the tall man. 

I heard his heartbeat suddenly increase while my ears perked up at the sound of a car on the road. Master? I sat up and felt his hand return to my back. I scented the air and smelled the familiar burn of oil, rattle of metal; it was him. My tail started to wag and when I looked up at the tall man I felt my heartbeat match his. The excitement rushed over him. We shared it. I danced on my toes but held myself in place, feeling my legs shake with anticipation. The car pulled into the driveway. Still I waited. Waited for the tall man. 

I whined and looked up at him. Didn’t he want to join me? The sound of his heart, the sweet warm smell rolling off his body, the kind of heated scent of arousal that all animals shared, told me he did. But he remained still, his body humming with equal excitement at seeing my master. 

“Go to him,” the man finally said. When I couldn’t wait any longer I leapt from the steps, racing to the car. Master stepped from the car and I leapt onto him as he dropped to his knees. Licked his face, tasted coffee and strawberry jam. Looked back to the man. Master saw him. He hadn’t moved.

“You’re still here,” he called as I ran two more circles around him. 

“They appeared to need the air,” the man said, stepping down from the steps, “How was Philadelphia?”

Master was about to answer when the others came running over to him, forcing him back to his knees, their bodies pushing me out of the way in frenzied enthusiasm.

“Short and sweet,” Master said through the deluge. I loved us all being together again. Maybe this time he would stay forever.

I let the others greet him and returned to the tall man, leaning against his legs, glancing up at him. I knew he wanted to do the same, rush to the Master, rub his fur over his skin, bathe in the familiar scent, “A city vast and interesting enough to require more than one work filled day and a night at a cheap hotel to enjoy.”

“Someday maybe,” Master said, standing up and looking at us, “When I’m not working a case,” The tall man ran his hand over my ears, “Winson likes you.”

I lapped at the man’s hand in response, “He possesses a singular mind. Oft occupied with your wellbeing.”

Master came forward enough so that even the tall man’s nose could have smelled the intensity of their heat together, “I was lucky to find him.”

“Lucky to have found each other,” the man said and stood a moment more before stepping away, “If you’ll excuse me, Will, I have an appointment.”

“Yeh,” Master said, “Of course.”

The tall man began to walk toward his car.

“Hannibal,” Master said, making the tall man turn, “Thank you. For sticking around.”

“It was no bother. I’m always glad to see you.”

And he left, making me whine, whine at the confusion, the lack of contact. So much can be learned through touching. Which they refused to do. I sat back on my haunches and watched the man leave. I heard Master sigh and when he knelt down to wrap his arms around me I rested my head on his shoulder. He needed it. If only from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be more stories written from Winston's POV, agreed? Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Nightcap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's POV

“I was never much of a scotch drinker before knowing you, Dr. Lecter,” I said, crossing my legs and leaning back into the leather armchair. A modest fire crackled in front of us, lighting the edge of my crystal glass and warming the front of my legs. 

“A contemplative bookend to many a meal,” he answered, taking a light sip from his glass then settling it back down on his leg.

“Are we contemplative men?” I asked, staring into the fire. We’d done this before. Many times. I’d found support here. Support and stability during times that I doubted I could continue. When suddenly I knew my Bella wouldn’t grow old with me. When my faith in myself, my ability to lead, came crashing down around me with Will Graham underneath. I still questioned it. Now when my wife was fading away in front of me. Now when I enlisted Will in an even more dangerous game than ever. Playing both sides. He’d told me he was broken. Said it’s what made him capable of doing the work. Getting it done. And I tried to believe he could. Had to. For his sake. But I knew only one thing really mattered to me. Catching the Ripper. Catching the man sitting right next to me. Catching him and then leaving the FBI behind, spending what time she had left with Bella. Part of me knew, with near crippling guilt, that Will Graham didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. I’d do what it took to get the Ripper.

“More so with age perhaps,” he answered with a deep inhale, “And the nature of our work doesn’t allow for anything less.”

“Yours more than mine,” I said, “Overthinking leads to hesitation. Leads to doubt.”

“You again mention doubt, Jack. Will has made his own choice about returning to work.”

“I know,” I said, taking a drink, the liquid cool on my lips, “But I’m still responsible for him.”

“As am I. And I have faith in Will. As I have faith in the painful but rewarding process of growing beyond the things that hurt us.”

“As he is?”

Our eyes met in the orange light, “Jack, you know I can’t say more, I’m sorry.”

“You understand why I’d push, right? He just spent months institutionalized, treated like an animal in a brick and iron cage. Will is the kind of man that belongs in fresh air, clean water, open skies, not trapped underground. I don’t want to see him slip again.”

“I will be there to catch him should that happen; guide him to open skies.”

I finished the scotch in my glass enjoying the warmth in my belly, “Comforts me to know that,” I said, running my forefinger over the smoothness of the glass, worrying Hannibal could hear the insincerity in my voice. I knew how much all of this had hurt Will. Not a man that trusts easily. Makes betrayal all the more painful. And I still don’t know what Hannibal’s intentions are with Will. I’d thought it was just to frame him for his own crimes but then he fought so hard for Will to be free. I hesitated only a moment, then asked, maybe foolishly, “Why did you agree to do therapy again with a man that may have tried to kill you?”

“He asked me to.”

“You could have made a referral.”

He thought for a moment, “I couldn’t abandon him when he needed me most.”

I thought of Bella. How difficult it’s been. I thought of how easy it would be to stay late at work. Avoid dwelling in that place. A place of helplessness. And she didn’t accept help that easily either. I knew her better than to hover over her, but I wasn’t going to stop trying, even when it hurt. She would never feel alone so long as I was breathing. Because I loved her.

I looked over at Hannibal who was also lost in thought. Why had he accepted Will back into his life? The FBI back into his life. Why risk it? What could possibly be worth it, what could be more important than his own survival? 

This is why we’ll catch him, I thought, the realization hitting me suddenly with a sick weight. I’d questioned Will’s plan. Didn’t feel there was any assurance that Hannibal wouldn’t see right through it. But this was it. This is how it’ll work. And I would have never seen it coming. Not in a million years. 

He loves him. 

If he was a monster in every other way possible there was one way he wasn’t; in his ability to love. It made him vulnerable. Blind. Maybe for a moment I felt a stab of pity. How warm a feeling like love must feel to a man like him. How unfamiliar maybe. How dangerous. But it passed quickly. Because his days were numbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel for Jack, really, it's not easy being him. Tough bloke, angered me, him putting Will in danger, but he has a goal in mind.


	4. Peanut Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Jimmy and Z's POV

“What are you doing? On the ground?!”

“It’s a peanut bar, you throw them on the ground, Zellar.”

“You’re a mess. You’re making a mess.”

“True, yes. And I can delight in both of those truths.”

“Yet you are meticulous in your work. Is this a dichotomy I’m just realizing?”

“If your density actually rivals anvils, maybe.”

I took a long drink of beer, wiping the foam from my upper lip, “I’m in forensics, you’re in forensics, we can’t be dense.”

“Oh really?” he cracked another peanut and threw it over his shoulder, “Like our job isn’t a shit show of melodrama and insanity most days; being dense to some degree is a life saver.”

I sighed in agreement, “It’d be so much easier if it were just dead bodies.”  
He leaned forward on his elbows, “Suddenly Will Graham is wearing goddamn Brooks Brothers clothes and has forsaken Super Cuts haircuts? I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“The man spent months in the looniest of loony bins, all of his friends thought he was murdering people and eating them, it changes a guy.”

“And now he’s back at work.”

“Show must go on,” I clinked my glass against his.

“How does someone come back from that?”

“I don’t know,” I licked at the salty shell of a peanut, “A good psychiatrist?”

Price burst out into laughter, beer sloshing over the side of his glass, “Paging Dr. Lecter!”

“He’s a good psychiatrist.”  
“Uh-huh.”

“Uh-huh?”

“And we make a return to density.”

“He is!”

“Says his intriguing, I’m so-sexy accent? His three piece suits? His casual knowledge of art history as he stands somehow blank faced over a dead body?”

“Those may be contributing factors, sure,” I fiddled with the rolled up sleeves of my shirt, anxious my hands still smelled of chemicals. If only I worked fast food, at least then I’d only worry about coming home from work smelling like beef.

Price took a drink and chewed on a few peanuts, “He’s a closet case.”

“Hannibal?”

“Hannibal.”

“Maybe he’s not a closet case. You don’t know. You don’t know anything about him. He could be a happy gay guy, out in the world, enjoying all it has to offer.”

“Doubtful,” Price rolled his eyes, “Guys wound tight.”

“No he’s not. He is the coolest cucumber I’ve ever seen. Nothing phases him.”

“One thing phases him.”

“Improperly prepared scallops?”

“Do I really have to spell everything out for you?”

“Why is it even any of our business?”

“That one thing maybe being Mr. I’m-Suddenly-Dressing-Like-a-Male-Model for  _ some _ reason.”

“Don’t be so stereotypical; how a guy dresses doesn’t indicate their sexuality, come back from the 90s, Price.”

“The minute Hannibal came into Will’s life everything changed.”

“You barely knew Will, and didn’t know Hannibal at all before all this. Why are you all of a sudden an expert on unrequited love?”

“Nevermind. You’re an idiot. You’ll notice microbes lingering in eyelashes but you don’t see what’s right in front of you.”

“I’m honestly not looking. Microbes are more interesting.”

“You’re missing out, my friend,” he nodded with a smile, “Our own morgue based soap opera.”

“You are imagining it.”

“Dr. Lecter is thirsty, Zellar, trust me.”

I let my head fall in my hands, “Price.”

“You could destroy the whole Amazon rainforest with the sparks flying between those two.”

“Wait,” I said, “You don’t think they’re . . .”

“Smashing, as the kids say?”

“If they are, Will should get a new psychiatrist.”

“I doubt they are,” he signed, downing the last of his beer, “One hundred percent sad repressed, pining, masturbation and nothing else.”

“Christ, I do not want to think about that.”

“Love is a beautiful thing. Just because we are losers who haven’t gotten close to the real thing doesn’t mean we should shame anyone else for it.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Sure you do. Order another beer.”

“I will,” I got up, glaring at him. Maybe Price was just looking too much into nonexistent melodrama. A way to cope with all the shit we see everyday. Or maybe . . . maybe. I thought back to our last case. Of Hannibal hanging around. Me wondering why he was hanging around. Somehow always right by Will. Why was he there? Did we need a psychiatrist there? Shit. God his eyes. Not that he ever looked at me. Thank god. Not like that for sure. Oh my god. Fuck. Was this sad? Should I be sad for him? God, Price was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could go to a peanut pub . . . someday soon? How could we all have been so reckless in the Before Times?


	5. A Sneak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chilton's POV

Audits are always just around the corner. Steep fines are not worth the simple safeguarding every self respecting psychiatrist should take while operating under the ever watchful eyes of credentialing agencies. At the very least Hannibal could hire more loyal, or at the very least more intelligent cleaning ladies. All it took was saying I was a colleague of Dr. Lecter’s and she let me right in. Ridiculous really. Plain arrogance. 

And it didn't take long to find the files he had on our mutual client. Precious little notebooks stashed away lovingly on the shelf by the fireplace. How could he be so careless, I wondered, gathering them in my arms and setting them down at his desk. I flicked on the lamp and settled into Hannibal’s chair with a gratified sigh. I smoothed my hand over the fine leather and hesitated only a moment. This is for the good of my patient after all. Poor Will Graham. So lost. So confused. Caught in the merciless tide of America’s mental health care system. 

Any of the actual therapy notes quickly lost their appeal. For such a guarded, scrupulous person I would have thought Hannibal would have kept these at home. Past the many pages of beautiful handwritten notes were sketches, divided by thin pieces of carbon paper, some in the notebook itself, others loose paper placed carefully inside. 

Were these sketched from life? Or memory? The first one was just of Will’s face in profile, shaded like he was in front of this same fireplace. I allowed my fingertips to lightly trace the fine lines, satisfied when looking there were smudges of graphite on my fingers. I turned the page and found another sketch, this one of Will with one of his countless mutts. Full body, lifelike, both man and animal caught in a moment. What moment? How much time did they spend together? I imagined an early morning, coffee brewing, their hair tostled and mussed from sleep, letting the dogs out in some kind of ill begotten domestic bliss. Or was that again just one of Hannibal’s dreams made real through lonely sketches? 

I raised an eyebrow and turned the page again. Will reclined in bed, a tantalizing section of sheet lying over his groin with just the hint of shading indicating what was underneath. Somehow even in black and white Hannibal had managed to capture a warm glow to Will’s chest, his cheeks, the arm raised over his head, the curve of his thighs. I bit at my lip, touching this one too, imagining Hannibal drawing it, worrying his own lip as he slowly got hard in his finely tailored trousers. 

I admit I was almost shaking, turning the page again. Reactively I shut it halfway, heart beat thundering in my ears. Christ, Hannibal. I slowly creaked the book open again and looked around as if I was being watched. Oh Will, I thought, shaking my head, if you could only see the adoration and care Hannibal put into drawing you into a simply godlike figure. Did Hannibal imagine how blessedly endowed a man Will was or did the good doctor get an actual taste? Maybe when he had Will drugged out of his mind? Maybe then, dominate to the unwilling submissive, he committed all parts of Will Graham to memory. Or would Hannibal consider that rude? 

I took a deep breath, glancing at my watch. This was a worthwhile excursion. I ignored the pulse of my own cock in response to the images. No, I thought with glee, an audit wouldn’t like to find this sketch. Not at all. I better take it, for safekeeping. I ripped out the page quickly, not caring if it was obvious a page had been torn out, tucking it under my jacket before turning off the lamp. I returned the notebook to where I’d found it. Pure adulation coursed through me. It was an incredible feeling, knowing something that someone wanted to keep hidden. One of the joys of being a psychiatrist. Immense power. What would I do with this information? Time would tell. For now it was enough to know Hannibal ached. He was human. Flawed. Like the rest of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timing of when this is set in the second series is a little grey, that detail aside, this is my first time writing Chilton. I kind of like him . . . also I work in Medical Records, he's right, audits are ghastly. Triple lock your PHI folks!


	6. Blood Spilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will's POV

They couldn’t leave without me. They. Abigail and Hannibal. And me. The devastating realization of what had happened, what he had planned, what I’d missed, crushed the breath out of me. I’d missed him nearly begging to leave, leave without killing Jack, telling me that there was a place for Abigail in my world. A world he would make. And I’d missed it. I was so pleased, so proud of myself for fooling him, so intent on keeping the meter of space between us, the distance of our chairs; delighting in the surprise, the cunning. 

In a shattering second, reeling from seeing Abigail actually alive and Hannibal covered in blood, I wasn't surprised to see hurt on Hanniba’s face. Pain. Agony even. It rolled off of him in waves that froze me in place, suspended in the metalic air, not able to drop eye contact. 

I messed up, I thought as he held my face, I didn’t know. Didn’t he know that I would have wanted to run away with him if I’d known he hadn’t killed Abigail. That if I’d known she was alive and well and in need of us I wouldn’t have done this, would have left the FBI behind. I wasn’t much of an FBI agent, never wanted to be. Didn’t he know that? Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I know?

How quickly my mind reorganized itself. As if the space and capacity for the kind of hopeful dream of a family, of a new life away from the shards of the old one, had been building all along. I’d kept myself from it though. With fierce strength and intensity I held tight to my better judgement, my conception of normalcy, not letting it move an inch. I’d hurt him. It didn’t give me joy. I didn’t taste retribution like I thought I would. 

Before I had a chance to speak his pain and anger plunged a knife into my gut. I grasped his arms, feeling my legs begin to fold, turning into jelly as I fell into him. He held me up, shouldering the quake of shock and clumsily firing nerves, and I couldn’t help but imagine how our first embrace could have been different. His breath hitched in my ear, the first time I’d heard him out of anything but the most serene breath as my blood spattered on the floor. 

Hannibal, I wanted to say, stop, I begged silently, stop, don’t do this. But I knew he couldn’t. The pain was too great. Hannibal, I thought as I slid to the ground, I didn’t know. Didn’t know, didn’t think. Hid it from myself, from the realm of possibility, tried, tried to do what was right. Because if it were possible everything changed. If he could love Abigail that changed everything. If he could love me then maybe I wouldn’t be lying in blood. I should have figured it out. My vision darkened around the edges. Should have figured out that he loved me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this, hurt to write the last bit, of course, hurt to watch. Truly the worst, unrequited love, and those times when you miss something you should have seen, and it costs you. Real opportunity to kick oneself. If you have feelings for someone, whoever you are, whereever you are, it's an automatic no unless you ask/try, yes? And try and avoid stabbing them, if at all possible. Comments are appreciated, cheers!


End file.
